


Full Prism

by CloudDreamer



Series: Theater of Tragicomedy [9]
Category: Homestuck, Homestuck Epilogues
Genre: Excessive Celestial Metaphors, F/F, Infinite Dead Nepetas, POV Second Person, Vriska Finds Her Way To Be Relevant Even Though Its Not Supposed To Be About Her, vagueposting in the tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 11:42:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20407168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudDreamer/pseuds/CloudDreamer
Summary: Kanaya Maryam lives in color.AKA, can I write anything without excessive celestial metaphors?





	Full Prism

The world is nothing but colors. 

Red. It is as vibrant as the sun that doesn't burn, and it is as dull as the rust of your friend's blood, dripping from her veins across the ground. There is no light reflected off what used to be her, staining the dirt. It is thick, and it is on your fingers. You hold them up to your lips, looking for something in it. The smell is haunting, and if you bring it closer, you are afraid of what you would do. 

It is violent purple, unravelling the world with lightning CRACKing through skulls. Her lavender texts leaves you wondering so many different things. You wonder how it is that her eyes are so pale when her blood is so dark. The words you'd type out are like your weavings-- they are layered. There are so many shades of green in what you want to say, it's almost turning red. 

Beneath you is nothing but gray-- same as above you. You were standing on the cold metal, your feet bare, and your light is fading. There was every color in his light, separating only when they hit your jade green tears. It is in a moment before your death when you see a rainbow. 

But you do not die. 

You dream, instead, trapped inside a chrysalises as your wings take form. You see friends you've known from other lives without remembering, friends whose connection to you is encoded in your very blood, and you see new ones too-- both dead and alive. Each shade you see is nothing more than a fragment of their whole self, but that doesn't mean those pieces are meaningless. Without each individual piece and the pigments stained in those see through panes, stained glass would be a monochrome monotony. There is, without a doubt, nuance in each dead Nepeta you fail to know. 

But as your form in these dreams flicker, you know you must move on, because you are not dead. 

Of course, as you come to understand your body, new and old, you know you are not alive either. The dreaming do not see in color like you do. 

The world is shades of royal purple. It is fuchsia on your tongue-- yet another dead friend -- and it is violet on your lipstick/your chainsaw. It is also the scratches on the face of a clown that you know, somehow, that he inflicted on himself. He flips a coin and lands on heads. 

The world is shades of blue tears-- it is her regrets and her sins that you are no longer burdened with balancing. 

The world is all in green. You follow the beacon to its source to find a girl no longer wrapped in shadow. She smiles slyly at you, like she knows how the shades of the gray have left you faded and how it is that only your self indulgent and lustful consumption of the light of this eternal sun and the light of the dead that bring you back to your vibrance, but she doesn't mind. 

The gold and orange are the colors of a goddess. They are magical, and they do not stain as you drink from her neck. She dwells in the shadows, and yet, she is your moon, reflecting the light for you to bask in. Her words are as nuanced and multilayered as they seemed over the text, and neither of you fold, pushing each other further. 

A blue love you once held in high esteem, despite believing her wildness untamable, is what keeps you together through years of darkness. Vriska is the sun that you flew too close to, never understanding that you didn't want someone to tame. And it is with her and her satellite that you bask in the light of your moon. 

And when she is gone, you fall into your own patterns and Rose falls into hers. 

It is only when she is your blue sun again that you can fully live. 

You are so proud of her, and although she'll never say it, you know she is of you as well.


End file.
